Sometimes, usually at punk shows when you should be there, I find myself following this bizarre train of thought where I want everyone in the room to know what it feels like to lose someone by an act of violence. Then I realize what that actually means and I stop wanting it.

Then I think of things from the perspective of anyone remotely involved like : "My daughter was only 21 and her boyfriend got murdered"

Sometimes the thoughts come from the future: "We were there when it happened."/"My parents were there when he was shot."

I still haven't admitted that it's real, even though I cry about it a lot. I don't want to move on from it. Because with the flow of time a new generation, one that has nothing to do with you, will hear your story but never fully 'appreciate' the fucking grief of your passing or the greatness of the way you chose to live. The usual way of things.

You were in complete control of your life, the only consolation that you did not get to choose your death.

My thoughts run in circles, my brain is on lockdown. Wishing that things were different makes everything worse.

We're sad and we miss you

You want so badly to blame the bird for flying into your windshield and killing itself

But really it isn't the bird's fault that cars exist and you killed it with one.